Shuǐguǒ Qíshì
History “Shuǐguǒ, there are many things in life you must remember as the son of a scribe of the Kuchiku Clan. Conservation and history of our beloved clan, the honor and glory of our victory over the disgusting Chishiki…but above all, what is most important to remember is this: fealty to our Empire.” The boy known as Shuǐguǒ Qíshì, of the Qishi clan in Hekai, was no older than the age of fifteen when his father had told him these words. An only child, it was his duty, and the mission of his family, like many others of his caste to record the history and laws of the Kuchiku Empire. A task he was loathe to do. Even from a young age, he had noticed his hand was meant more for the art of war than the art of calligraphy but even so he did his duty and showed fealty to his family and country. When was it that everything changed? When he heard his father speak of the messenger that had been spreading the news of the return of the Chishiki to Shengming de Yaolan? Or when the reports of our forces began to lose to these ‘adventurers’ that they brought back with them…who is to say. Even still the dutiful son continued to follow the path his father had laid out for him, even faced with this overwhelming threat the Oni Emperor and the might of the Kuchiku could not be defeated. Until it was. His father was dead, long conscripted and fallen in a battle against O’kibo’s forces. His mother had fled, having always hated the laws of Hekai staying only through fear of the Oni Emperor’s children. And dragons, dragons now flew above Hekai in numbers not seen since the Emperor’s scourging of the planet. Like winged leviathans they clashed in the above. Even as the Emperor’s palace shook with the sound of might and magic, the sight in the clouds above continued to fascinate him. Theirs was a dance of death, of fire and lightning, the roars and bellows of the dragons above awoke something in him. Two colossal white wyrm’s flew overhead, jaw’s locked along each other’s throats as they plummeted into the ground. His home shook, pieces of the building fall apart as the two creatures continued their awesome duel along the ground, unphased by the landing that would’ve crippled, even killed a lesser creature but the two great beings continued. Shuǐguǒ stood, unable to move out of fear and awe. That ‘something’ inside of him grew then. Envy? Ambition? Respect? Perhaps all three, he snapped out of his stupor as he realized the Empire was doomed. And he would not fall with it. The sound of the empire’s defeat resounded throughout all of Hekai. The emperor was dead, his daughters slain with him by the hands of the Adventurers that had hailed from the land of Oustomia, and one of the dragons that had been lost it’s duel, revealing it to be another of the emperors children. The Kuchiku Clan collectively stood in silence….that is until the Emperor’s secret son revealed his deception. Pyrrhia’s capital city palace was revealed to be something much more: An alchemical dragon of bewildering proportions. Kestillian Kuchiku took flight, his destination and purpose clear, the utter and complete destruction of Jiyu. Some rejoiced, others panicked but Shuǐguǒ understood the opportunity that was given before him. The leadership of the alliance against the Kuchiku Empire scrambled as the adventurer known as ‘Mango’ took flew towards the new seat of power for the Chishiki. He moved quickly, going to one of the docks where the war relief had taken up. His plan was simple, lose himself in the crowd of now refugees of Hekai. Forge a new identity for himself in one of these ‘oustomian colonies’ and build himself up. The planned worked, the destruction of Jiyu the perfect cover to slip away into obscurity. And so time passed, his new identity would have to be similar to these ‘oustomians’ being a scribe he had studied enough of their culture and language that blending in was relatively easily. “Waylon…Eyliad…that will do…” he muttered as he waited in the air ship carrier headed to Caylixia. An ambition in his heart, and a plan in his mind he waited to start his new life. On arrival, he joined the refugee’s as they entered the empire. A mass of people so large would’ve had trouble in any other nation, yet within the walled city of Nevermore the rampant mess of refugees entered and registered without issue. Now his first problem, a problem every ambitious person runs into when they wish to get their plans fulfilled: Money. Undead knights with glowing red eyes guarded every part of the city, always waiting. Crime was near inexistent with the unsleeping monoliths with their eternal guard thusly, the idea of crime quickly fell out of his mind. These were the people who helped destroy his old empire, after all starting small would have to do. After finding temporary lodging at an Inn he got to work finding a place of work, despite his previous occupation, his body was hardy and strong but all tasks of menial labor were done by mindless undead directed by the great necromancers will. Though the living could aid them, the idea of working alongside the walking dead was less than appealing so he settled for work in an old smithy as an assistant to an undead dwarf named Joquam. It was ideal source of revenue, after all. War continued to rage on of course, both metaphorically and literally. A steady order of chains and other binding equipment would come and go the forge master, an undead dwarf would always jape “The Raven’s commissioned neary two hundred tons worth o chains from us laddy, and we’re still getting business for um, har har!” a reserved and quiet person, ‘Waylon’ simply grinned and nodded, continuing to create link after link. Much like the creation his chains, link after link, eight years passed one after the other, and eventually the dwarf forge master no longer needed him. The ‘human’ that had walked into his shop a refugee had long since saved up enough to be on his own way for something greater. But the gratitude of a dwarf is not to be looked down on, before leaving he allowed his assistant to choose a few of his items to be magically enhanced. Pragmatic as always, Waylon chose his blade, one made from the leftover Noqual of a special order of chains and a uniform he had fashioned for himself for the official business of his journey. The two passed with little love loss, the undead being what he was and Waylon’s own secret ambition left little room for sadness. His next step was to become a dragon rider. Luck was on his side, within the very city he had worked all these years a new guard of dragon riders was soon to be born. And this was his chance, other animals, horses, dogs, cats, they all instinctively avoided him. But a dragon…a wyrm straight out of his even now still vivid memory of Hekai’s skies would do, the ‘dragon bond’ as he’d come to call it would happen and he would begin his great work. Training had started out fine, wyverns were presented for all applicants, a riders test. Although a different experience than he originally thought everything seemed to be going well and he was brought to the hatchery, the location of the eggs for a dragon rider to bond with. The other riders that had made it as far as himself found their wyrmling to be but every egg he tried to bond with did not seem to have that ‘spark’ that connection he felt so long ago. He stood there in the hatchery for a w hile, confused, angry, lost. Until he was escorted out, seemingly a failure. Immediately he left Nevermore, his mission had failed. Rising up through the organization with the aid of a dragon of great power and might was no longer feasible and he had spent more than enough time here where he was limited by the order of the city. So he devised his second plan. An arena could also house dragons. He had long since heard rumors of Sovenheim, even paying the occasional visit when it came to getting magical supplies for enchantments. The rumors of the safe haven for dragons that even had a use for the darker minded of their kind. Some say they are eaten and cooked in the merchant stalls, other say the government of the country uses them for rituals. Other’s note that draconic arena’s get some of their stock from the country. It took a year’s worth of time before he was ready, he studied the myriad of draconic creatures that moved between the varying routes towards Sovenheim. During this time, he would simply act as a merchant guard one of the easiest and most consistent ways to make gold. When heard a batch of wyrmling’s had arrived he quickly put his plan into action. Volunteering as a guard in the arena he took the night shift, activity was low during this time as the dragons were all fed their scraps and sated for the next day to come. He opened the gate to the varying pens, some large some small, dragons of all myriads of colors. Some looked at him with animosity, some with mild curiosity others simply slept. Whichever the case he drew his blade to get a better look at the creatures, he wasn’t one for magical or arcane knowledge but he had learned how to spot a wyrmling at least. Once he the light of his blade shone faintly so that he could differentiate color. A small jolt of light sparked from a cage just smaller than the height of his knee, and he smiled faintly to himself. There could only be one type of dragon, that small, so with haste he sped to the small cage picking it up in one arm, his blade in another. He paused as he heard the hissing from within, but the bars were secure enough so he had little worry he continued to the exit portal his shift was nearly over and he’d almost made it out scot free... There was a guard. With a silent curse he stopped. For the second time in his life he had felt threatened. This was the last step to his greater ambition, some stupid guard trying to do an early shift would not stop it. He walked quietly up to him, plunging the blade into his back, he heard a gurgle and continued once more, twice, a third time a fourth and the man was still with heavy breathes filled with part fear and adrenaline he drew his blade out of the mans body which slumped over he stared at him with cold eyes yet the only thought that came too him was…. ‘Bad luck.’ He moved back to the wyrmling’s cage, scooping it up and travelling through the portal, a crowded street was in front of him so he quickly covered his bounty going as fast as he could to the next set of portals leading to a now rebuilt Jiyu. Once in the city, his first stop was an Inn. Establishing the bond must come as quickly as possible while the creature still had some feeling of gratitude for its freedom. He tossed five gold pieces onto the inn keepers table asking for a room and no further questions were asked. Once in his room he placed the creature on his bed taking a moment to examine it, it was tiny, most likely from a weaker stock of dragon, but it was still fierce. That was enough, he cautiously opened the cage…the dragon burst through hissing, leaping and gliding onto a nearby wardrobe as it observed him cautiously. It didn’t attack him. Good. Pulling out a small enchanted gold coin he threw it at her, every dragons favorite treat. Immediately it leaped to intercept the small coinage, landing back on the bed and chomping on it. His heart thumped loudly, his whole body surging with energy as the small wyrmling flew past him. This was it. Slowly he crept up behind the creature, reaching out with his hand to touch it’s bristled spines. With a spark, magical energy began to flow between the two of them, the dragon turned it’s head half in alarm, half in curiosity it’s eyes….her eyes…shifting to an iridescent blue, his own vision shifted briefly to gold. The first step of his plan was complete, the dragon bond had begun. Appearance The man known as Waylon Eyliad is normally always seen with a custom made uniform, black and blue with a navy undertones and some gold accent. The Raven black hair that flows out of his head comes from his mother’s side of the family but the rest of his physical angel-kin features are from his father's. The blood of Kuchiku scribes that were created to produce scripture and records oddly enough gives him faintly Oustomian looks. His iridescent blue eyes that shine faintly and alabaster white skin hint at a lineage of slavery. Personality *Reserved *Cold *Ambitious Waylon has little time for comradery or joking. Often going into arenas for the sake of collecting prize money more than fame and entertainment. His primary motivation in life is to amass as much power as he possibly can, ever since he’d left his home and was no longer shackled to the Qíshì clan. Although he prefers to solve most of his problems with words, he would not think twice of simply killing someone to avoid a future problem if that was the smartest move. For the most part, unless it has to do with building up his own network of ‘allies’ or co-operating with other ‘adventurers’ he let’s others speak, such as his dragon. Allies Zalyn – “I have spent so many years looking for this chance….who would’ve thought I’d find her in a cage.” Joquan – “He put up with me for eight years…and taught me quite a bit when it comes to dealing with a forge…” Enemies None as of yet. Additional Information